and none will shed a tear for the love no longer here

The headstrong lass, usually contorted by her own impulsion, was at a loss. This was not a wolf -- it was not even a coyote -- and as she inspected its twitching frame, something seemed incredibly off about the animal.

The spasms did not alarm her -- not even the ripple of snickers beset on his wretched head bothered her -- what alarmed her most was the strangeness that embodied him -- as if some malign star kept him. This was not the benevolent work of the gods, nor was it the wrought fiber of the wilderness. Something had bent and sharpened and dulled this creature.

She did not want to advance any further, but curiosity compelled her. "What are you doing?" She inquired, standing a distance away as if afraid he carried some sort of malaise.

For all she knew, he did.